Urei
by Ryrahd
Summary: ExT. Eriol takes a moment to ponder. Somewhat introspective. Ficlet. Angst. Eriol's POV. And a bit... suicidal o.O?


A/N: And there you go! My long awaited angst! I had been dying to write one for months (though this isn't amongst the ones I had planned). Now I'll be able to concentrate on the romance fics. 

Disclaimer: standard legal jargon applies.

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**Urei**

I'm cold. Oh, so cold!

I can feel the rain as it pounds down on me. There is a freezing chill creeping up, clawing along my skin, seeping underneath my wet clothes. I wonder, is it the cold that is making me shiver? Or is it the water, soaking my shirt and hair and hands? 

I'm wet and tired. Too tired to sleep, too tired to think and breathe. 

I can feel guilt and sorrow and thousands of other repressed feelings settling in my stomach. They dance together, mixing and grinding, making my head swing along with them. There is a sea of these sensations. The cold only intensifies the strength with which they clutch me. 

I am a martyr, a sufferer for a just cause. It doesn't make a difference that my suffering is fruitless. Right? I have achieved what I set out to do. I have completed my task. And now I must live with the knowledge that I have nothing left, no purpose or meaning. That I _am_ nothing. What good is life when you know that you're useless? That with every breath you take, an innocent dies?

Out here, in the cold and the wet, I'm both predator and prey. The pain consumes me, overwhelms me, until I can barely breathe. It's a game. A race against sensation, emotion and time. 

I close my eyes and inhale the damp air. 

The rain reminds me of you. It's both fleeting and ever present, transient and ethereal; like you. It even smells and tastes like you. I keep my eyes closed, shutting off all other noises but the rain and the image of you; I keep it like a mantra, a prayer with me always. If I can concentrate hard, I can almost feel you with me, touching me, tasting me like I taste you through the salty rain. 

I open my eyes and there you are, as if by magic. God; you're beautiful. I always thought you were not ordinary, that you were an escapee sprite, out to cause mischief to heartbroken youths. I look closely under the bangs plastered to my forehead; the image is blurred, rough and smooth, concrete and scattered at the same time. Through the ephemeral glance I realize that it's not really you, but a leering, mocking phantasm. 

The not-you smiles at me, her eyes so much like your own, and I feel my chest cease up in another spasmodic wave of pain. Why does it hurt so much? Why does my heart flop in its place, my knees quiver and my voice comes out in a squeak? I don't want to feel this pain. I hate it when I do, but I can't escape it. 

There is warmth on my hand; it tastes of bitterness and misery, war and anguish and pain. It has a coppery tinge to it. I've tasted this before, I realize. It was a long time ago; I can barely recall the instance. But the memory is still there, floating somewhere in my cache of memories. 

It's blood. 

Blood? Have I been injured? I cannot remember feeling pain. That only occurs in my chest when I look at you, see you smile at me, when you sigh and whisper. There is blood everywhere, on my hands, mingling with the rainwater and what I presume are tears. It is smudged all over my face and hair, and I can smell it and taste it on my tongue. It doesn't hurt, though. No, that privilege is only granted to you. 

The blood is warm, welcoming. It trickles in-between my fingers and onto the ground. It tastes of salt, which could have been tears, copper and something bittersweet. It makes my eyes sting, and I can feel the dizziness spell seize me once more. 

The not-you smiled down at me again and I can feel my chest contort in another throe. My hands itch to touch your face, your lips and hair. I long with all my body and soul to be next to you, in your arms as you are in mine. 

I wish I wasn't so stupid. 

I wish I wasn't as cowardly as I am. 

I wish I had told you sooner that I think you are beautiful. 

I wish I had found the guts to tell you that I need and want you. That you are the reason I life. And that I want you to be with me, smile for me, cry for me and with me. 

I wish I had told you that I lo– 

...That I like you. 

The not-you wavers slightly with another cool draft, and I can almost see the little frown that crosses her pink lips, so much like your own. The mocking smirk disappears off her face, replaced with one of hurt. She shimmers, almost, with the onslaught of rain and vanishes, like a silly promise. 

The pain is starting to dull now, the ache spreading along my body until it hurts so much I can't feel it anymore. I don't even notice the rain or the cold anymore, nor the blood in my hands. 

How can you possibly achieve something that is impossible to attain? How can you keep on running after something when you know that no matter what you do and how hard you try, you will never reach it? What right do I have to even think of you when you are so beyond me, out there in heavens?

I sigh and close my weary eyes. Your image still haunts me. In my mind, you reach out to me, caress the wet hair off my forehead. You run your soft hand along my cheek and eyelids. If I try very hard, I can smell you, too, but that is just the rain. 

"I love you," I whisper, though it might have been just a fleeting thought. 

You touch my lips with the tip of your finger, the soft pad pressing against my bottom lip. My chest convulses in pain. Though this time, it is warm and exhilarating, so much unlike the bitter cold. 

"You idiot," you whisper back, but that, too, could have been a dream. 

~Owari

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End file.
